


When Love Kills, What Choice Do We Have but to Die?

by HallsofStone2941



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives Except Bilbo, Bilbo's POV, Gold Sickness, Hobbits have soulmates, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Spoilers, Mix of book/movie, Not Canon Compliant, POV Multiple, Rejection, Rejection kills Hobbits, Sad, Sad all the way through, Soulmates, Thorin's POV, death!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though Dwarves do not have soulmates, Thorin knows that Hobbits will die if rejected by their One. Now he can only hope that he is not too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Love Kills, What Choice Do We Have but to Die?

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized sections = past events, regular sections = current events.

With every step, the pain in his heart pulses just a little bit more. Every fiber of his being wants to turn in the other direction; to go back to the one he loves. But that will not help him, not now. Not when _he_ had so thoroughly broken him, taking his fragile Hobbit heart and dashing it against the rocks. It would have been kinder, Bilbo thinks, if Thorin had simply killed him. Now he must endure the slow, excruciating process that began when Thorin had cast him away and forbidden him to return.

* * *

_"I am sorry I doubted you."_

_Those had been the words that had begun to heal Bilbo's heart. From the moment that Thorin had stepped in his home, from the moment their eyes had met, Bilbo had_ known _who this mysterious Dwarf was. How could he not? Any Hobbit will know their heart, their very soul, upon sight. They will_ feel _the pull to them from that point on._

_Of course, Thorin Mightier-Than-Thou Oakenshield had not reciprocated those feelings during the quest up until this point. Instead, he had been quite vocal in his opinion of their "burglar", painting Bilbo as useless, a burden, soft, unprepared - mostly true, as Bilbo is a Hobbit, but that did not lessen the sting. It had not been enough to kill him - no, Thorin would have to accept their bond for that to count - but it had certainly hurt._

_Now, though, Thorin has a much better opinion of Bilbo. The Hobbit can feel the ache that has been in his chest for a while soften and smooth over, as if healed._

* * *

A particularly painful stab of pain drops Bilbo to his knees, the snow giving way to his heavy, broken body. The wound in his side tugs slightly, causing a dull throb to radiate from the point where a lucky Orc's blade had managed to slip under the mithril shirt and pierce his waist. It matters not - Bilbo will be dead long before the infection kills him.

But not here. Bilbo wants to reach Beorn's, at least - possibly Rivendell - before he dies. He does not want to be left in the snow, nothing more than a frozen corpse for the winter wolves to feast on.

* * *

_Thorin acts strangely for a solid month before finally, in Laketown, admitting to Bilbo that he had begun to see the Hobbit as more than a friend. Bilbo stares out from the balcony, looking on the town and pondering Thorin's words as the Dwarf becomes more and more dejected. Just as Thorin is about to turn back inside, Bilbo speaks._

_"Hobbits do not love as others do, Thorin. We have one person, given to us by Yavanna, that we love without thought, without condition. They are made for us, and we for them; the other half of our souls. They hold our hearts in their hands, and we hold theirs."_

_"I see," Thorin rumbles. "I must apologize, then, for intruding in business that I can see is not mine. Goodnight, Master Baggins."_

_Bilbo catches Thorin by the sleeve, forcing the Dwarf to turn around and face him. "I say this because I do not - cannot - seek trivial affection. I have been yours since before I was born, Thorin," here the Dwarf's eyes widen, stunned, "but if you seek to determine whether or not you care for me, I cannot yield to you. I would not survive, Thorin, If you were to change your mind...if you were to reject me."_

_There. He had said it. And now Thorin stares at him, wide-eyed, before capturing Bilbo's chilled fingers in his large, calloused hands. "Dwarves love only once," Thorin says, holding their hands up in the air and studying their fingers intently. "It is a choice that we make, unlike you, but once it is made, we do not turn back." Crystal blue eyes dart up to stare at Bilbo, until he feels as if every corner of his soul has been examined. "I choose you."_

* * *

Thorin's head is fuzzy, and his eyes want nothing more than to stay shut, thank you very much. But there is _something_ that nudges from the back of his mind, a voice telling him there is something he needs to do. With great effort, the Dwarven King forces his brain to remember how to open his eyes.

A white, sloped ceiling greets him, and with a bit of gentle head-turning, Thorin realizes that he is in a tent. His second realization is that everything hurts - his chest, his neck, his arms, even his legs. Bandages restrict most of his movement, but he still, carefully, painfully, leans forward and adjusts the mass of furs behind him in order to prop himself upright. The tent is currently empty, which means no one has witnessed his no doubt less-than-graceful movements, but his soft grunts have apparently been loud enough for Dwalin to peek his head in.

"About damn time, you moron," Dwalin growls, glaring at Thorin. Before he can respond, Dwalin's head disappears and his gruff voice filters through the thin tent walls as he orders someone to fetch someone else - most likely a healer. Within a few minutes, Oin comes in with a few rolls of bandages, a bowl of greenish paste, and a mug of what is likely that nasty tea that Thorin has had the misfortune of tasting. The healer completely ignores Thorin's attempts at conversation - mainly to find out if everyone is okay - but pokes, prods, slathers, and wraps until Thorin, with freshly changed bandages, feels as if Oin may have been a _bit_ angry at Thorin and his lack of self-preservation.

As soon as Oin is out, Balin and Fili are in. Thorin is relieved to see that Fili is alright, and assumes, judging by his nephew's expression, that Kili remains relatively unharmed.

The two Dwarves fill him in; Thorin is stunned to learn that he had been unconscious for the better part of a week.

"Ye had a fever at one point, laddie." Balin says. "Everyone thought it best if you were kept asleep until you were a little more stable."

Thorin nods, but his mind is on other things. "And what of B-Master Baggins?" he asks. Vaguely, he can recall something...harsh words, shouting...it is all very blurred in his head, like trying to see through thick fog.

Fili and Balin exchange a glance. "We...found a scrap of his coat on the battlefield," Thorin's heart clenches at Fili's words, "Gandalf said he had seen Bilbo after the battle, but as far as we can tell, he's left already." Thorin feels a pang in his heart as Fili leaves to return to Kili's bedside.

"Can't say I blame him," Balin says sharply, continuing Fili's words. Thorin can tell, from Balin's tone, that he is about to receive a lecture. "After all, he was banished from the Mountain. I imagine there is nothing left for him to do but return home."

"Should not have left in winter - he'll never make it across the mountains." Thorin mutters to himself, imagining Bilbo attempting to cross the Misty Mountains on his own. Then Balin's words register. " _What_ ," he asks in a low voice.

"Banished, Thorin. He wants to go home. Remember? His books? His armchair? That cozy little smial that we tore him from for our own selfish purposes?" Balin deadpans each word, glaring icily at Thorin. But Thorin focuses on one word. _Banished_.

 _"I would not survive Thorin, if you were to change your mind. If you were to reject me."_ Thorin now clearly remembers how that had occurred - the Arkenstone, Bilbo's theft, and Thorin's rage: Thorin's blind, hate-filled, madness-induced rage. He remembers Bilbo's stricken face, how the blood had drained from those normally golden cheeks to leave an ashen complexion behind. He had not cared then, had he? No, he had only wanted to make Bilbo suffer for his betrayal.

Bilbo had explained to him that rejection meant death. Thorin could not have made it more final.

"Dispatch searchers to find him, Balin. Anyone and everyone who can pick up his trail. And hurry," _before it's too late._

* * *

_"You! You gave it to them!?" Thorin's eyes flash gold as he reaches out to Bilbo - not the soft, tender reach of the Dwarf he loves, but the maddened chokehold of a king that cannot see beyond the gold in his hoard._

_Bilbo raises his chin ever-so-slightly. "This madness must stop, Thorin," he says, and though he means to stand his ground, it comes out as begging. "Can you not see how this will end? Is the vast wealth in your mountain truly worth more than the lives of your companions, of your kin?"_ of me _, Bilbo thinks, begs, silently. But Thorin only lifts Bilbo by the throat and pins him against the wall._

 _"I should throw you to the ground. I should break you against the rocks, you descendant of_ rats _," Thorin growls, loud enough for only Bilbo to hear. Then a sadistic gleam flickers in his eyes, the same way that Smaug's had when he had taunted Bilbo with the Arkenstone. And in that moment, Bilbo knows. Bilbo knows what Thorin is about to do, and he knows that Thorin - or rather, this convoluted, darkened shell that once contained his beloved Dwarf - knows exactly what will happen to Bilbo._

_"But I will not," the King says, straightening and releasing Bilbo. "Instead, you are banished, Bilbo Baggins, never to step foot on or near Erebor again."_

_Bilbo feels his heart shred at Thorin's words. He stares at Thorin, briefly, hoping that the Dwarf will change his mind. But his eyes are dark and amused, and a crooked smirk appears from beneath his beard. "Am I not merciful, burglar?" Thorin rumbles, pleased. "Surely this is a better punishment than death, no matter how worthless a life it is."_

_Bilbo leaves without a word, stumbling over himself as the world crashes down, burying him with the weight of a thousand statues, a million pieces of accursed gold._

_Gandalf, somehow, knows of Bilbo's predicament. He offers to find a guide to take Bilbo to Rivendell. But the Hobbit declines. War looms on the horizon, and he will not remove a warrior from his army. No; he will fight, he tells himself, as the marching of Orcs makes the ground vibrate. He will fight, and then he will go home alone._

* * *

After nearly a week and a half of frantic worrying, Thorin receives a raven bearing a flutter of paper from the party searching for Bilbo. It says nothing - no words, no hints as to the condition of his—the Hobbit. Only a slight mark, which to the untrained eye looks like a smudge of dirt, tells him that they have found him.

It is another week before the troupe of Dwarves returns.

Thorin is flying - as best as he can manage, given his injuries - to meet them. They bow respectfully, and Thorin nods distractedly, all the while trying to catch a glimpse of the Hobbit.

"Your Majesty," the head Dwarf says haltingly. Thorin catches something in the Dwarf's inflection and turns his head slowly to meet the other's eyes. "We..." a long pause, filled, for a reason that Thorin cannot comprehend, with grief. "There was...we found him like this. There was nothing we could have done. I'm sorry."

And then the Dwarves part to reveal one carrying a Hobbit-shaped bundle. The cloths surrounding Bilbo are drawn back just enough to see his face: eyes closed, expression drawn and pinched, as if in great pain. He is white, too white, and when Thorin touches one cheek gently, he withdraws his hand as if burned; but no, it is ice - cold, unforgiving ice - that had met Thorin's questing fingers.

Bilbo had been warm, always (except when he stepped in the water). His whole body had radiated heat and light, drawing Thorin to him like a moth to flame. But now he is pale and cold, and Thorin sees now that the body is small, so small, without the life it had once held.

"No..." he whispers, resting a hand on the dulled curls. "No, please, Mahal, no."

There is no response.

* * *

Gentle music haunts Thorin's ears as he rests his head against the stone slab that now protects Bilbo's tomb. Thorin had wanted to bury him deep with the kings of old, but Gandalf had reminded him that Hobbits love sunlight and life. Now, with a bit of Dwarven ingenuity, a garden, watered by tiny pipes and warmed by the sun shining through a clear, diamond window, grows in Bilbo's final resting place.

It is not enough. It never will be.

Thorin would give a thousand victories, a thousand Erebors, a thousand useless rocks, and a thousand shiny metals away if only...if only _he_ was alive. If only...

But there is nothing that he can do now, and his mouth opens, soundless, in an attempt to expel the pain of his heart. How is he still alive, he wonders, when he is certain that his heart had stopped working many months ago?

_Thorin smiles, eyes still closed, as light fingers trace senseless patterns on his bare chest. "Good morning," he rumbles, catching those fingers and kissing the tips. A nose nudges at the underside of his chin before lips press softly against his. He responds just as gently before opening his eyes to see Bilbo, his honeyed curls shining like gold in the firelight that surrounds their room in Laketown. The Hobbit hums and curls against Thorin contentedly._

_"Forever," Bilbo had told him. Forever sounds perfect._

In a cold hall filled with the dead, his crown long ago thrown angrily aside, a king sinks to the floor, broken, and curses himself for ending that perfect forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen so many fics where Bilbo almost dies, and Thorin is sorry and they live happily ever after, and it's like: no. Let Thorin suffer - he doesn't get off that easily; no one does.


End file.
